A Vouch Sealed With Blood
by Karen Hikari
Summary: "I will get you out of here," Jay whispered, a murmur worth more than Jafar's ambitioned treasures. "I don't care at what cost, but I will get you out of here." And he would, giving up his life if it became necessary, at the price of a soul that wasn't even his anymore, even if it was the last thing he did. He would get Carlos out. It was a vouch sealed with his own blood.


**Alright! This is _terribly_ overdue, but here I am!**

 **Last month, on August 23, it was my sister's birthday, and for the third year in a row I decided to give her a fanfic as her present, but this is the first time I wrote her a story in English, so this little something is very especial for me. Furthermore, during the last two years I wrote Solangelo stories, from the Percy Jackson fandom, and this was the first time I wrote her a Jaylos story.**

 **The last thing I want to say before leaving you to read is that I owe a _huge_ thank you to geminalupus, who was kind enough to beta read (and fix a whole lot of) this story!**

 **So... this turned darker than I had originally planned it ti, but... I still hope you enjoy it!**

* * *

 ** _A Vouch Sealed With Blood_**

* * *

Of all the things Jay had learned in the Isle, probably the most important one, the one that had been carved into his mind and skin from his birth was that he shouldn't need anyone, and should be fond of the same number of people.

 _There's no team in I_ , like his father would say.

Jay smirked. It was easier, he had to hand that to his father—it kept things simple, manageable. If you didn't have to worry about someone else's well-being you had more time to focus on yourself.

It was cheaper and it saved trouble as well, and it kept things balanced. Furthermore, this was how things worked in the Isle of the Lost, different variations of _There's no team in I_ carved into everyone's mind, and that train of thought, more often than not, lead to disagreements and conflicts.

Truth be told, Jay didn't get into fights because he was argumentative. Not most of the time, anyway, but because he had a reputation to keep. In the Isle, that meant that he had to begin skirmishes, to fight back and never run away, to never step back when someone threatened him, to never let anyone insult him without an answer.

Still, Jay had to admit something, even if just to himself—he didn't like it.

He was good, that was for sure. He had strong muscles, lighting quick reflexes and calloused hands, hardened by delivering punches, yet light as a feather when he used them for the family trade.

Even then, there was something about washing the blood of a broken nose from his hands that Jay didn't necessarily… enjoy, even for the Isle's standards.

He did, however, recognize the importance of ratifying his worth and place, which meant that he _had_ to break some noses to be left alone.

It was a cycle, like everything else—the first few weeks after he'd won a fight, his fellow islanders would be too terrified of him to even look his way for long. Afterwards, once his opponent's wounds started to heal, the memory was washed away, and one or two daring punks would go to him and challenge him, sometimes even trying to take him by surprise and ambush him.

It never worked.

If he tried very hard Jay could understand the appeal of it—if, by chance, one of those idiots had won against him, they would have become the strongest of the Isle, the most skilled in the noble art of fighting.

 _As if_ , Jay chuckled.

Once and only once had he been defeated, and it hadn't been by one of those idiots— far from it.

Mal, the daughter of Maleficent, had proven she was more competent than him. Perhaps not as strong, no stronger at least, but she was certainly more cunning. She had an intimidating gaze and made decisions rapidly. She was unfazed by danger.

Jay, who, unlike the idiots that tried to fight him, was smart enough to recognize that someone who bested him was better off as an ally than as an enemy. After their first fight, Jay had promptly stopped competing against Mal, offering the daughter of Maleficent a chance to steal with him. Every once in a while, just to prove to her that he felt no animosity towards her, Jay would participate in a friendly stealing contest. Mal won most of times, but it was still something he... took a pleasure in, for lack of a better way to put it.

The second best fighter of the Isle after Jay —which made her the third on the Isle— was Harriet Hook. The pseudo-pirate was fine, Jay had decided long in the past, mostly because she had enough problems of her own to mind and left him to his own devices, which in return made her a good acquaintance.

Once every two weeks or so, Jay would schedule a friendly fencing combat against Harriet, just to establish to everyone else where they still stood.

Other than that, Jay supposed that Mal didn't have to worry about idiots coming to challenge her, because they always tried to get a step up by beating Jay first. Lucky bitch she was.

—*—*—

The first time Jay saw him, it was an accident.

Now, of course he'd heard about Carlos de Vil, the son of the Dalmatian thief, but this was the Isle of the Lost, and Jay was only interested in rubbing shoulders with the people who presented a threat to him, people like Mal or Harriet, while Carlos de Vil was just... riff-raff, a runt who wasn't strong enough to look after himself, much less pose a threat.

However, it was hard to ignore someone who pushed you out of their way.

"Hey, what's wrong with you?" he called after Carlos, though it was mostly to let the other boy know that he wouldn't take the offense lightly.

Carlos, instead of answering to the challenge, refused to let the Jay's words intimidate him and didn't even turn around to acknowledge his presence.

Soon, the son of Jafar found out why—a few seconds after Carlos had crossed the alley, a second person, much slower and out of breath than the son of Cruella, appeared. He wore an apron that was stained with both blood and flour, so Jay wasn't very sure about his profession.

What Jay knew with certainty, though, was that the man in front of him was furious.

"Stupid thief, I'll catch you! And when I do, you'll regret ever having stolen from me!" the man roared, taking off his cap and throwing it to the ground. In doing so, Jay recognized the old baker, husband of Anastasia Tremaine.

Really, he thought, all this boy had stolen was bread, Jay questioned, giving a huff to his cigarette. Bread, out of all things? Jay couldn't have cared less, and in the Isle of the Lost everyone was free to take whatever they wanted, but... bread seemed like something too simple at such risk of getting caught.

To be honest, Jay didn't praise himself in being a busybody. For the most part, he limited himself to mind his own business and that was it.

However, the son of Jafar was curious, and there was something so odd in the scene that had just unfolded in front of him that he couldn't help being... interested by it.

He decided to follow the boy, as only a few seconds had passed and Carlos must have been close still.

It turned out that the son of Cruella was faster on his feet that Jay had originally thought he'd be, and for a moment Jay thought he'd lost him, before he caught glimpse of the washed out red of Carlos' vest.

 _It was definitely a bad idea to wear such an attractive color when you supposedly wanted to go unnoticed_ , Jay huffed. _Stupid boy_.

"Hey, street rat, where do you think you're going?" he yelled, not expecting Carlos to actually stop dead in his tracks, the loaf of bread escaping from his trembling fingers as he stepped back, trying to become one with the wall of the dead-end alley.

 _It looks like someone's 'fight-or-flight' instincts aren't working very well_ , Jay concluded as, yet again, those two words flocked to his mind with the purpose of describing the son of Cruella: _stupid boy._

"You're fast," Jay said, giving a huff to his cigarette butt, his words not a compliment but a mere statement.

"You're not… you're not him…" Carlos let out, his eyes having barely been raised up to inspect his interlocutor before they were focused on the filthy ground once again.

"Him? The one you just stole from?" Jay laughed loudly, taking a step closer, chortling even harder when he saw a tremor run over Carlos figure. "This?" the son of Jafar inquired, tossing the bread away with the tip of his boots. "Oh, you're free to steal whatever fills your eye, you know? If you like it, take it!"

"What do you want?" the younger boy inquired, pressing himself harder into the wall, until the sharp ends of the bricks dug into his back.

"Oh, why must it always be about 'wanting' something?" Jay laughed. "Where's the fun in that? If I want something, I take it, no need to ask for anything or 'want' it for long," he continued to explain as he put his cigarette out on the wall acting as Carlos' pitiful attempt of a shelter. Instead of fighting against him, instead of fleeing, all Carlos did was set his jaw tighter, eyes forcefully closed. "In that case, Carlos, why don't you tell me what _you_ want?"

As all answer, the son of Cruella let out something akin to a whimper, his hands clenched into small fists which, even if he had decided to use against Jay, wouldn't have represented a real threat.

"C'mon, Carlos, you started this awkward conversation, why don't you tell me what you desire the most?"

"I don't… there's nothing that I want," Carlos stuttered in a puff of shaky air and hollow breathing.

"Is that so?" the son of Jafar inquired, leaning closer as he tossed the spent cigarette away, the sudden movement forcing a shiver down Carlos' body.

Another pseudo-snivel left his dry lips, but, Jay noticed, for the first time, Carlos had actually done something to step aside from him, small as the movement was.

"Listen, wishing for something is alright… so long as you don't think your wishes will come true," the son of Jafar continued, his voice not as harsh, not as loud as it had been until then. "You know, you could be better than this, _Carlos_ ," he purred, raising his left hand to gently tuck one of Carlos' disheveled locks behind his ear, chuckling at the younger boy's incremented tremors.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Carlos said, attempting to step back even though there was nowhere else to go.

"You know, Carlos?" he continued, his velvety voice curving into Carlos' ears. "You're fast, _very_ fast. I saw how you got away with that bread, huh? But… if you tried harder, I think you could be so much more, you know, steal better, more… substantial things, wouldn't you… _want_ that?"

"I didn't really _get_ away with it, did I?" Carlos let out. "I mean, you… you're so much better than me… or… or everyone."

"Um… you think?" Jay said in an undertone, his long lashes fluttering close enough to caress the beginning of his cheeks, even though Carlos refused to raise his eyes from the floor to actually appreciate it. "I think you could be so much more, Carlos."

Instead, of answering, the son of Cruella only denied with his head, forcefully, his eyes shut as his teeth dug into his lower lip.

It was interesting, Jay decided with a contemptuous snicker, how Carlos _shivered_ whenever Jay called him by his name, the fakest, faintest trace of fondness rolling off the son of Jafar's tongue.

"If you _want_ it, _Carlos_ , I could help you become that," Jay murmured, leaning closer. "I could always use someone as fast on their feet as you."

"I don't… I don't know what you're talking about."

"Well, street rat, if you ever want to find out… you know where to find me," he continued, purposely bending closer to Carlos, and when he noticed that the boy neither tried to squirm away nor whimpered, he decided to continue his little experiment, fully leaning down until his lips were touching Carlos' in a violent contact, his tongue thrusting into Carlos' parted lips before the younger boy had time to yelp in surprise.

There was nothing syrupy about the collision, nothing soft or comforting in the touch—there were edges and Carlos' clumsy movements that alternatively tried to get away and respond to the gesture. Above everything, there was need.

"Ha! We'll see, Carlos, we'll see," Jay let out throatily, restless, when he finally pulled away, having decided to go a step further and bite Carlos' lower lip—gently, the most considerate caress he'd given someone.

And with that, he was gone, leaving Carlos panting, shaking and more confused than he would have been if Jay had only beaten him senseless.

Jay hadn't taken a single one of his belongings.

—*—*—

It was a few weeks later when Jay finally heard of Carlos again.

Truth be told, the son of Jafar hadn't been actively keeping an eye the other boy, but the Isle of the Lost was a small place, and rumors traveled fast. He knew what the son of Cruella was up to, he was aware that he had been stealing from small booths at the bazaar, with a tiny bit of luck sometimes, with empty hands most of them.

He knew Carlos would eventually need him. He was the greatest thief in the Isle, only bested by Mal, if that even counted, as they ended up in a tie most of times.

In all honesty, Jay wasn't sure why the flimsy son of Cruella de Vil had caused such a strong impression on him. It was odd, very odd that he had gone as far as to offer an alliance with him when Carlos was so glaringly nothing more than a weakling, a silly runt that was no better —and no worse— when compared to the countless other children in the Isle who swiped food instead of jewels.

He supposed —he wanted to suppose— that the reason behind his heedless actions was that Carlos was in fact fast on his feet. He wasn't a prodigy, of course he wasn't, but his obvious weakness and the self-evident need of attention that boy gave away was enough to convince Jay that, despite his lack of strength —perhaps even due to it—, Carlos would also be incapable of betraying him, which was also a good thing to take into account when it came to the inhabitants of the Isle of the Lost.

What was true, though, was that flirting had always gotten him what he wanted, therefore, that was what he'd done. And, just like when one of the evil step-granddaughters' bracelets caught his attention, Jay had fluttered his eyelashes and shot a disarming smile in his target's direction.

—*—*—

When Carlos finally showed at Jafar's disregarded shop, Jay was sure to welcome the young boy with a lopsided smirk and a glimmer in his eyes that could have competed against one of Jafar's coveted rubies.

Carlos, once again, kept his eyes glued to the floor, fists clenched and arms holding tightly to himself.

"My, my, I see you're back," Jay laughed, pulling the son of Cruella closer so he could both close the door and throw his arms around Carlos' figure, chuckling when the other boy's shaky breath reached his neck.

"What you... what you said… about… about helping me," Carlos tried.

"Yeah? What about it?" the son of Jafar purred into Carlos' ears.

"Can you… can you help me?"

"Well, that depends," Jay said in an undertone, raising his right hand to caress Carlos' cheekbone. "What do you want?"

"You said you could… you said you could teach me… help me…"

"And I can, but you have to tell me what you want, don't you? And you have to tell me what I'll get in return, right, _Carlos_?"

"I'll give you… I'll give you anything I have… anything, please,"

"Anything, huh? You're reckless too, I like that," Jay continued. "You see, I want to work with you, form an alliance."

"Why would you do that? I'm not… strong like the Gastons or intimidating like Ginny or…"

"But you're fast and you're reckless, I thought we'd covered that already," the son of Jafar replied in a velvety voice. "The Gastons don't have half a brain between the two of them and Ginny is a little viper."

"I still don't see-"

"I don't need you to fight against anyone, Carlos, don't you see? I can do that by myself," he cut the son of Cruella rather abruptly. "I saw how you got away with that bread. You're light on your feet and have a quick mind, don't you?"

"I wouldn't say that."

"But me saying it is enough, Carlos," Jay brushed off. "I need you to distract the vendors, only that. I'll do all the _dirty work_ , I think it sounds pretty good, doesn't it?"

Before Carlos had time to answer, Jay leaned down, his dry lips meeting Carlos' in a tempestuous touch.

—*—*—

After that, their collaboration began.

At least once a week they'd go down to the bazaar, never together, no, but always with a plan under their sleeves. Fidgeting, Carlos would call a vendor's attention to himself while Jay filled his pockets with rotten fruit, sparkling ringlets and, often times, disregarded lamps.

At Jay's signal, Carlos would flee, taking the salesperson behind him, ignorant to the fact that the real thief was still in his booth. Later on, Carlos would meet Jay in Jafar's shop, where they would divide the plunder. Certainly, Carlos was not receiving half of the loot, sometimes not even a quarter of it, but the son of Cruella didn't seem to mind, as three apples was much more than he'd ever had to call his own.

There was something else, Jay supposed, a more vigorous, more vehement reason that kept pulling Carlos closer to him. Perhaps it was the simplicity of not having a real reason to stand by each other, perhaps it was the fact that Carlos had decided to cling on to a warm touch that, despite its fierceness, did not hurt for as long he could.

For Jay it was simply a deal, an alliance between acquaintances that was common in the Isle. You could always use someone else to your advantage and betray their trust later, after all.

What wasn't common among mere 'acquaintances', however, was the fact that he allowed Carlos to stay at his father's shop on the nights Cruella was too drunk to stand on her feet.

 _Perhaps it was something else_ , a voice kept whispering into Jay's mind. Perhaps it was the relieved sigh that escaped his lips whenever he found someone in his way that wasn't there to challenge him. Perhaps it was the appeal of not having to pull off an act in front of someone, of being able to relax his muscles and lean into someone else's warmth.

—*—*—

It was two months into the arrangement when something went wrong.

Looking back, Jay couldn't point out _what_ had caused their collapse, he couldn't think of _how_ things had gotten out of hand.

To be honest, the word 'failure' did not exist in Jay's vocabulary, thus he had no way of expecting things to ever go wrong when he was in charge.

Although, to be _fair_ this was the Isle of the Lost, nothing ever changed for the best, oh no, things here, bad already, could only ever _worsen_.

—*—*—

Usually, after a robbery, Jay would return to his father's shop to find Carlos anxiously waiting for him, his melting-into-the-wall habit still too present for Jay's liking.

That day, Carlos wasn't there.

This time, it was Jay who apprehensively waited, resting against the crumbling door of the shop.

He stood by the shop's godforsaken door for ten minutes, his breathing becoming harder with every passing second, an uneasy feeling to his stomach, agitation making his hands shake in restlessness.

It was when he was just barely holding himself back from throwing a punch strong enough to bust a hole into the weakened concrete that he decided he couldn't take it anymore and strode right back to the bazaar.

Now, the Isle of the Lost was never quiet, not by _any_ means. Be it a quarrel, crashing, a full-blown fight, crazed vendors trying to sell something or just simple, domestic noises, there was always something not quite peaceful in the place.

What _was_ out of place, Jay realized, was the laughter, the fits of clapping and the expectant silence that welcomed him when he entered to the agora. At the time, Jay had to admit that he didn't notice the taunting gazes shot his way or that, for once, the multitude around him actually stood aside and allowed him to pass through them instead of him having to push and elbow his way into them.

What he _did_ notice, however, was a flimsy, powerless snivel that he knew all too well.

"Carlos!" he called, his head whipping around in an attempt to recognize the origin of noise, which became even harder when another roar of laughter erupted around him. "Carlos!"

After that, things happened too fast for Jay to remember them clearly.

He knew his frustration had become so unbearable once he realized that he was unable to get Carlos back that he had simply… flamed up. He was aware that he'd turned around, hooking the first unfortunate idiot he'd found with an iron fist before smashing his head against the boxes of rotten vegetables from a fruit store.

"I won't ask again," Jay calmly said, not even bothering to turn to see if the poor fool had risen to his feet again.

Finally, as if suddenly pulled by magic the mob in front of him parted, the screams not silenced, even when Jay was incapable of hearing them, stone eyes following the suddenly empty expansion ahead of him.

That was when he saw him—in front of the old bakery, the place where he'd seen Carlos for the first time, Trystram, Anastasia's husband, standing proudly, one of his filthy boots planted on Carlos' unconscious chest.

"What are you sayin' now, stupid thief? Did I not warn you not to mess with me, you idiot?" he chortled, delivering a kick to Carlos' side, which made the boy's body roll until he was facing Jay, which allowed the son of Jafar to flash on the depth of Carlos' wound, his face covered in the blood that was profusely coming out from a cut across his forehead.

Jay's fingers _ached_ with the need to return the favor.

Trystam didn't seem to have noticed Jay's presence. Good.

For a split second, the son of Jafar allowed himself fear, intimidated by the fire that had ignited in the pit of his stomach. He had fought before, certainly, he had inflected pain on others, heard bones _crack_ under his fingers. Yes, he had maimed before and he had washed the blood off his hands with no second thoughts before, but _this_ was different.

For the first time, his fists twitched with the _need_ to beat that jerk's smirk out of his face. For the first time he _wanted_ to cause pain, to disfigure, to dismember. He absently wondered if this was what his father felt whenever he thought of Aladdin, this burning need of revenge, this contempt so humongous that it was not even loathing.

His first blow, quick and skilled, was for Trystam's nose, the blood, almost black under the deficient light, running soon enough. The old baker didn't even have time to yelp before Jay struck again, unfeeling to the numb ache of the skin peeling off his knuckles

Yes, Jay had fought in the past, but never had the son of Jafar entered the battlefield in an attempt to defend a third person.

—*—*—

It was after that incident that Jay fully realized how far things had gone, surpassing the barrier of the Isle, uncaring to Cruella's cawings and Jafar's drunken threats.

Subsequent to the… _incident_ Jay had refused to let Carlos accompany him to the bazaar, even when all left as witness of the event was a faint scar and the limp on his right leg that never really went away. No, he wouldn't say it out-loud, not even to Carlos himself, but he would have to be as crazy as Madame Mim to risk Carlos like that again.

The son of Cruella, bless his heart, refused to believe that it had been Jay's fault. "It's alright as long as I'm with you. It's alright," that was what he'd let out in a pained voice the day after the incident, when he'd finally come to his senses, but Jay knew better—he _was_ to blame, his egotism and his stupid greed was what had hurt Carlos to the point of nearly killing him.

He'd known Carlos was not a fighter, it was clear as the barrier that impeded them from ever escaping the Isle, so painfully obvious that Jay… Jay just knew it _was_ his fault.

It had taken months before Carlos could actually walk again, and even then sometimes he needed to lean on Jay a little. The son of Jafar didn't mind, as this was the least he could do for him.

—*—*—

It was a week after the incident when it happened.

Jay was tending to Carlos' wounds as best as he could, trying to make the bandages tight enough to force the wounds to sew themselves together again. He had contacted Evie, the daughter of the Evil Queen and one of Mal's allies the day before. It was rumored she was a good healer, having gone a long way from her mother's magic to use the feeble plants that grew in the Isle as curing methods.

Ointment or not, Jay did not see any improvement in his… friend's condition.

"Sta… stay," Carlos managed, one of the few nonsense things he'd muttered in the last few febrile days.

"What?"

"Don't… don't leave. Don't leave me…"

Grimacing, Jay sat down again, careful when he raised his right hand to caress Carlos' bruised cheek.

Numbly, Jay leaned down to press his lips against Carlos', tenderly for the first time, mindful of were he put his hands, thoughtful not to hurt him.

There were no teeth, no tongue either, but rather, a butterfly-like caress, the soft contact they'd been denied for so long, the comforting feeling of a well-known touch.

"I will get you out of here," Jay whispered into Carlos' ear when they finally broke apart, a murmur that was worth more than his father's ambitioned treasures. "I don't care at what cost, but I will get you out of here."

And he would, giving up his life if it became necessary, at the price of a soul that wasn't even his anymore, even if it was the last thing he did.

He would get Carlos out. It was a pledge, an oath, a vouch sealed with his own blood.

* * *

 **And... this was it.**

 **Please let me know what you think about it, because I'm ridiculously fond of it, even when it turned out so different from the usual fluffy stories I'd write for these two.**

 **Also, if you liked the way geminalupus and I work together, please consider checking out our other story, "The Ones Who Wander," where you will be able to read more Jaylos.**

 **This is it for now, thanks for reading and... read you soon!**


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